Everdeen's Awakening
by WizMonCruWil
Summary: My first crossover went so well, I banged out this one in a single day over the weekend! In this fic, I break another milestone, but I won't tell you what because I don't want to spoil it in any way. Just know, that there is a love triangle. Warning: it is not a conventional triangle. Gale is not in the picture. In fact, for the purposes of this fic, he doesn't exist. Enjoy!
1. Chapter 1: Bread and Strawberries

**Chapter 1: Bread and Strawberries**

I stuff the dead squirrel into my game bag, trying not to look at the piercing through its eye. Even if it is the cleanest shot for bringing down squirrel, I never like to observe my kills too closely, even while and after I'm cleaning them. You would think that, being a hunter, I would be less squeamish around things like blood and gore. But that distinction both goes to Mother and Prim, as Healing injuries from the minor to the very grievous is their profession. One of life's ironies, I suppose. I don't think I would last that long in the Hunger Games. Animals I can take down, but fellow human beings? Besides, District 12 has only ever had two Victors in 73 years of competition, so my personal tolerance for violence would probably be rendered moot, anyhow.

Slinging the game bag over my shoulder, and fetching a basket of strawberries from the ground, I head out of the wood and stealthily crawl under the chain-link fence to enter back into District 12. I cross quickly through the Seam, bypassing the illegal black market known as the Hob. I'll make most of my sales there today, but first I have a few more important calls, as I cross over the Town-Seam line.

The border really separates the working poor of the Seam (of which I am a member) from the Merchant class of Town. I rarely cross over the line, as I can likely only count on one hand the number of Merchants I do business with. Most would not be above calling the Peacekeepers on a Seam brat trying to hawk illegal game. Hunting inside or outside of the fence is technically forbidden, but when you have a Head Peacekeeper who so flagrantly ignores his own rules, there is a window for even the lowest on the District 12 totem pole to at least bend them.

My first stop is at the back loading dock of the Bakery. The Baker is a kind man and has developed quite a guilty pleasure for the squirrels I bag. I always trade back here though for, even though the Baker may approve of doing business with me, his Witch of a wife most certainly does not. I am always sure to knock carefully, and only ever allow myself to breathe when the Baker answers the rear door. The Witch has caught me before, and my encounters with her have never been pretty.

So I am surprised when it is neither the Witch nor the Baker who answers the door. Instead, it is their youngest son, out of three boys. His fine head of ashy blonde hair and deep blue eyes... eyes as blue as a sky in summer... peek out from the ajar crack, oddly lighting up when he sees me.

"Good morning, Katniss! Got any squirrels for us today?" His smile is easy and charming, but I don't smile back. I keep my expression blank. All business-like.

Peeta Mellark - that's his name - and I are classmates in the same grade in school, though we have never spoken at all until this very moment. We only interacted once and it was years ago... involving rain, a couple of trash cans, some pigs... and a burnt piece of bread...

I pull two small creatures from my game bag, and Peeta takes them gratefully. He holds one up, inspecting it, as his father surely taught him how to do. "Right in the eye. Clean shot, every time!" he praises.

I nearly gawk at him. His father, the Baker, usually just makes a show of inspecting my squirrels; perhaps he thinks it amuses me. But he never comments on their state specifically. Did Peeta Mellark just... compliment me? I don't know, and know even less how to respond. My social skills are rather underdeveloped, and I prefer it that way. I have never been very good at making friends, or so my baby sister, Primrose, tells me.

"Wait here," Peeta instructs. "I'll get the bread for you." It takes him a little longer than his father, but perhaps his mother is lurking about and he is trying to smuggle it out to me without getting caught? That has happened before with The Baker, though the instances are rare. At last, Peeta returns and pushes two loaves of bread into my arms. One for each squirrel. That's normal.

But what isn't normal is the shape and texture of these breads, as I happen to glance down and get a better look. The texture is more filling, they are slightly larger... and what's more, they're still warm. My eyes shift back to Peeta and I frown.

"This isn't sourdough." The statement comes out a little accusatory, and a tiny part of me wants to hit myself with shame. But it's true, this bread... whatever-it-is is by no means worth two squirrels. Not by a long shot. Besides, the sourdough I receive from the Baker is at least a day old - the products that failed to sell on the previous business day. And that's an optimistic estimate. Sometimes, I receive sourdough that is a day or two away from getting mold - scraps that are on its way out. But this bread... if I didn't know any better, I'd say it came fresh from the oven. No - I _know_ it came fresh from the oven; I can feel the warmth heating my arms.

Peeta shrugs. "We happen to be out of sourdough. And anyway, I thought you might appreciate a nice change."

How very convenient. Peeta probably pulled that lie right out of his rear, and I almost have the juevos to tell him so. But I stop myself. I may be brusque, but I'm not rude, and accusing someone of lying cannot be excused, even for someone as socially cold as me.

My scowl deepens. "Well, then, at least exchange it for something that's a day old or so. I don't take charity." The last of this - a statement of my principles on which I refuse to waver - is delivered flatly, so flat that you can almost hear the THUD when it lands. Peeta now shuffles awkwardly, and I know I've caught him in something. If there is one thing that should be a crime in this district, in my opinion, it's pity.

"Katniss, just take the bread..." he hisses, almost pleadingly. "Don't you at least want Prim to have something hearty?"

He's very clever to invoke the name of my sister - the one person whom I'm certain I love. I must say, it's an impressive guilt trip; he should add some violins for effect. But it's not going to work on me. Not now.

"Primrose will be just fine on sourdough, or anything that isn't just fresh out of the oven!" I snap prissily. I refuse to budge on this point.

Just then, there is a noise coming from somewhere in the Bakery. Peeta jumps and glances furtively behind him. "No time," he whispers. "My mother... just take it and go!"

I certainly don't want to be caught by the Witch - Peeta has made me overstay my welcome enough as it is. With no choice but to surrender this battle, I keep the bread tucked under one arm and flee.

* * *

I am still seething as I make my way deeper into Town, on the way to my next trading post. How dare he! How... how dare he! He should know from his father how I trade and what I trade with and what I trade for! Some might argue that I am a little too set in my ways. But any deviation from my established trading agreements - especially when the deviation comes from my customers' end - is, in my view, an act of charity. But I don't see it as charity. I see it as yet another debt I owe someone. People in the Seam take debt and owing someone very seriously. We take pride in upholding our obligations to each other.

What's more, I owe Peeta Mellark - with his coifed hair and schoolboy innocent smile and silver-tongued words! - enough as it is. I will always... regret that I never thanked him for tossing me that bread in the rain. The bread that saved me and my family from starvation. If I didn't know any better, I'd lay money down that he burnt that particular piece of bread on purpose too. I remember hearing a commotion coming from the building that night. Shouting, and the distinct WHAP! of a punch being thrown. Peeta probably risked a beating from his ill-tempered mother just to get that bread to me.

I shake Peeta Mellark from my thoughts as I reach the center of Town. Just off the Justice Building, is the Mayor's mansion. Mayor Granger and his family are almost certainly the wealthiest family in District 12. They'd have to be - he is appointed by the Capitol. Only Haymitch Abernathy - the paunchy, middle-aged drunk who is our only living Victor from the Hunger Games - could possibly rival in their wealth. But he lives in exile high on the hill in Victors Village; we rarely see him.

Like before at the Bakery, I approach the mansion to sell my wares via a side door, inconspicuous and out of the way. A few clipped knocks before the door opens.

Hermione Granger is the Mayor's only daughter. She is very pretty, with sleek brown hair that tumbles in waves down to her shoulders. Deep brown eyes. A full, round face. A straight pair of lips that are striking without the pronouncement from any of the cosmetics that she almost never wears.

That is one of the things I like about Hermione, and stems towards my willingness to trade with her. Even though she and her family are wealth personified, she never flaunts it. For someone who has been raised amongst the elite, and not just of District 12, but of the Capitiol itself, she is refreshingly humble. Unfailingly kind. And authentic - nothing about her has ever come across to me as phony.

Which is why I trade with her the freshet foodstuff I can find - wild strawberries. Hermione's face lights up when she sees the basket in my hand. "They look like a good batch today!" She reaches into the doorway behind her and procures her end of the deal - a crate of medicine. They are more expensive remedies, ones that my mother couldn't afford in the loads she receives fresh off the train from the Capitol.

"I got you everything that my mother doesn't expressly need," Hermione tells me in a rush. She often talks fast, but I have learned to keep up with her - an impressive feat, for someone as taciturn as me. Mayor Granger's wife has been ill for years; I can't remember the last time I saw her at a public District event. When I asked Mother once what ailed the poor woman, she clammed up and refused to tell me. Whatever it is, it must be serious.

Even so, for the first time all day, I find myself smiling. I hardly ever smile - there is not really that much of a reason to, in the hard existence I lead. "Thanks, Hermione!"

"Say hello to your mom and sister for me!" Hermione calls, waving as I take my leave with the medicine.


	2. Chapter 2: My Only Friend

**Chapter 2: My Only Friend**

I sit in class with my chin on my elbow, trying in increasing vain not to fall asleep as the teacher drones on and on about appropriate mining techniques. I really don't see the point. I will hunt every day until I drop if only to avoid working for the rest of my life in the dark, danky mines that took my father. And I won't be some domesticated wife of any Seam boy who will be going down there. I vowed before I was a teenager that I will never marry or have children who will just be sent into arenas to die. I will never have to love and need somebody only to lose them and be emotionally destroyed. I learned that lesson hard enough when Mother all but shut down after Daddy passed away. I vaguely hear the teacher remind everyone that it is important to take detailed notes on this, as mining will be the future of almost everyone in this room once we finish school. A majority of my homeroom is Seam kids, with a smattering of Merchants.

And Hermione Granger. Even though she has the least incentive of everyone in this class to be paying attention - lesser incentive than me, anyway (she'll be married off to some young, strapping politician, likely of her father's choosing) - she still raises her hand like the teacher's every question is a buzzer. And she gets every single question right every single time she is called on. I have to admire her for this. After being randomly assigned to her on one project last fall semester, I learned quickly that Hermione pours herself into her scholastics. Gets top grades in every subject. She leads our entire grade in testing averages, or is at least in the hunt for the top spot. Only when Hermione is called upon do I pay serious attention, right down to how she slides her pencil back and forth across her desk while answering. I dare to smile. Even if she is married off, she won't just kowtow to her husband, and I actually pity the fool who will have to sleep beside her every night. He won't know what hit him.

All at once, I feel another pair of eyes on me, from somewhere behind me. Chancing a quick glance back, pretending to be uninterested or even just checking the clock, I notice Peeta Mellark's head dip as his gaze tears away. Now why on Earth would Peeta Mellark be staring at me?

I have not just taken to allying myself with Hermione Granger in the classroom. We sit together, at a secluded lunch table by ourselves, every day. Just we two; no one else has ever dared to claim a seat by us for as long as I can remember. Hermione usually does enough talking for the both of us, but for me, I have never found that she talks too much. She is actually an engaging conversationalist to listen to.

"The Seam boys and even some of the Merchants say that I'm a funny girl, but I'm not sure they mean it as a compliment," Hermione confesses on this particular day.

"They say that because your intelligence scares the living daylights out of them. You're the best in our grade." It takes me a moment, but I manage it: "I've always admired how diligent you are in the classroom." I have never been one for compliments, awful at receiving them and even worse at giving them.

Hermione blinks, and gazes at me intently for a moment. "Thank you, Katniss." Her genuine appreciation causes a strange heat to come to my cheeks, but then the bell rings for fifth period and the moment is gone.

* * *

At the end of the school day, I hurry to my locker and nearly rip the door off its hinges in my haste to get whatever books I need for homework tonight and get out to the main schoolyard and meet Prim for our daily walk home. As I am stuffing the last of it into my bag, I slam the door behind me and stand up nearly right into Peeta Mellark.

"Hey, Katniss."

I stiffen, remembering our encounter from this morning's trade. "Hello," I manage cautiously,.

"Listen, would you mind bringing some deer meat for the bakery the next time you... come by?" I am startled to see him blush bashfully. "My mother actually asked, but as long as she doesn't see the transaction being made, we're good."

My face cracks into a smirk before I can stop it. This is an interesting development. If the Witch has taken to a new See No Evil, Speak No Evil policy, maybe I can be more audacious in how I deliver game to the Bakery. I nod. "Sure. I'll see what I can do." I turn away, clutching the one or two outlying schoolbooks that wouldn't fit into my satchel close to my chest.

"Katniss!" I hear Peeta call behind me.

I turn back around. "Yes?"

He seems to be struggling to get himself to talk, until finally he gets out, "Never mind. Go on, Prim is waiting."

And struck by how he knows my sister's need for me at the end of the school day, I take off running for the yard.

* * *

In the middle of that same night, Prim comes down with a high fever. Mother is lucky that she gets no night-owl calls or other emergency requests, allowing her to care for her baby all night. I hover unnecessarily, demanding a prognosis from Mother every five minutes until she finally has to shoo me into the kitchen to let her do her job.

As I wait with frustration at the kitchen table, with only the damn cat Buttercup for company, I hear a knock at the door. Curious, I open, praying that Mother's attention will not be divided by an emergency call after all.

But it is only Hermione, I realize with a shock, who now pushes fever medicine into my hands. "Use them for Primrose, please," she orders. She looks almost scared. She should be. What is she doing out here, past curfew? Her status as the Mayor's daughter would do little to help her if the Peacekeepers caught her. But before I can say a word, she turns and flies up the path and into the darkness.

I shut the door in a fog, with only one question on my mind: how did Hermione know about Primrose's fever?


	3. Chapter 3: Awaken the Lust

**Chapter 3: Awaken the Lust**

I stand still, staring into the mirror as Mother does up the signature braid running down my back. I am wearing the same blue Reaping dress I have worn every year for the past four years I have been eligible. It is a hand-me-down from my mother's youthful days as a Merchant woman. She gave up all that, and earned the disownment of my maternal grandparents, when she ran off to marry my father. Their elopement caused quite a stir, and to this day, a Seam person marrying a person from Town happens maybe once every generation.

Mother steps out from behind me, her stare as equally blank as mine, to survey her handiwork. "Now you look beautiful too," she murmurs.

"I wish I looked like you," Prim remarks from the settee.

"Oh no," I beam tenderly. "I wish I looked like you, Little Duck." And I truly do. Primrose inherited our mother's Merchant beauty; were it not for deep-seated prejudices and long-term memories, she could probably pass for one, conceivably even Toast the bread with someone from Town, and get away with it all.

All dressed up, Mother, Prim and I head out from the Seam towards the square in front of the Justice Building. The Reaping is considered a holiday every summer; attendance is mandatory. You can only get a pass out of it if there is a debilitating illness or if your profession demands that you do so. My second Reaping, there had been a bad mine explosion the day before, and Mother got out of going because she was still processing injured Miners. I still had to walk Prim there and back, though.

The Peacekeepers register us through with a pinprick of blood, and being her first year as an eligible tribute, I have to talk Prim off the ledge. "It doesn't hurt much, the blood draw," I tell her.

I take my place in the 16-year-old girls section. At 10 AM sharp, Mayor Granger begins his annual speech. He reads what is known as the Dark Days Speech, the treaty that established the Hunger Games after the failed rebellion. Then he reads the names of all two of District 12's Victor. We have the worst track record of any district. The first I have only ever heard about in school lectures. I don't even register the woman's name when it is spoken aloud, only that she won the 2nd Hunger Games. According to the statue of her out in the schoolyard, she died when my mom was still a teenager.

And I'm willing to bet that the Herculean effort it must have taken to get our second champion, Haymitch Abernathy, out of a field worth two arenas is what killed her. Haymitch Abernathy won the 50th Hunger Games, or Second Quarter Quell. A Quell is a special edition Games held every quarter of a century to check possible rebellion, and there is always a special twist involved. The Third iteration of the event will happen next summer. I wonder what the twist will be.

At the call of his name, Haymitch drunkenly stands and plummets headfirst off the stage. I laugh along with everyone else. It is never a question of whether Haymitch will make an ass of himself once a year; it is how. Mayor Granger hurries to finish his job and introduce our district escort, Effie Trinket, as Peacekeepers haul our clownish folk hero away. As the Mayor takes his exit, I happen to spot Hermione in my row, a few girls down. Not even the privilege of her family exempts her from the Reaping, and I am sure that all the Seam, and at least half of Town, would like nothing more than to see her picked. Resentment for the elites runs deep here.

Effie Trinket's voice is really lofty and grating and downright annoying. She moves to pluck a slip of paper from the Girls Reaping bowl first. By the time you turn eighteen, you have at minimum seven slips with your name on it in the bowl. Unless, you're like me, and have needed to take out tesserae - a monthly rationing of grain and oil. It is a godsend, especially when a certain season brings brutually scarce hunting patterns, but you pay a terrible price for it. But for me, I would rather my name be extra times in the bowl than even my sister's single slip this year.

And perhaps that is what saves her. I will never know the exact deciding factor, as Effie rings out in a clear voice:

"Katniss Everdeen!"

My face goes limp. I can't believe it! I've been Reaped! In the next instant, however, I regain my composure as I seek out my sister... who, to my horror, looks like she wants to say something. Our gazes snap together, and I send her a look of pure, motherly stone: _Don't you dare volunteer for me_.

I begin to shuffle out of my place in line. As I do so, I happen to flit my eyes back to Hermione. Curiously, she looks as though her throat is refusing to cooperate. I nearly trip as I consider the impossible: would Hermione Granger, the Mayor's daughter, the richest kid in the District, actually volunteer for _me_? And whatever for?

It is too late for either Primrose or Hermione; I am already crossing to mount the stage. Effie calls the name of a Merchant boy who I don't even recognize; we dully shake hands and are escorted into the Justice Building.

From now on, I am in custody.

* * *

The first people let into the ornate, private room in which I am held prisoner are Mother and Prim. Primrose is inconsolable, and even gets a little angry at me for refusing to let her volunteer for me. "Your life is worth more than mine," I tell her with crippling honesty. Besides, no one has ever volunteered for a Reaped tribute from Twelve. Ever. It's never been done. I am uncertain the reception my sister would have gotten had she offered to take my place. She might have been seen as either a hero or a fool, the latter due to her age. Either way, I would never have wanted her to bring undue attention to herself.

Squeezing Prim goodbye, I instruct Mother on how to raise her remaining child once I am gone. She could learn to trade her healings for higher prices, barter for more food. Because no way could she hunt in my stead. And I would not want her to risk getting caught by the Peacekeepers even if she could.

Every visitor to the tributes gets five minutes with them and no more. The Peacekeepers say they have as much time as it takes to process everybody; there is apparently no cap to the number of people who can come to wish farewell. Such a crunch has never been a concern for Twelve. Most years, the number of people who even bother to say goodbye has never broken the triple digits. And sometimes not even the _double_ digits, unless one tribute is Seam and the family is particularly large. Rarely does anyone outside relatives brave the doors of the Justice Building on Reaping Day.

So it is quite a shock, then, when the door to my room opens again just after Mother and Prim leave. I stand from the cushioned seat, surprised. Who else would want to come see me? I have no close friends; I barely have any friends at all.

Peeta Mellark's mop of blonde hair stumbles into the room, likely because the Peacekeeper standing guard pretty much shoved him in. Our eyes meet, and within those blue pools, I can tell that he is absolutely... heartbroken. That is the only word that can describe his expression now.

"You didn't deserve this, Katniss," he shakes his head, as he steps closer to me. "I'm so sorry."

I don't know what I have ever done to deserve his kindness, and don't have time to analyze how much of his sympathies is put-on or not. I shrug. "It's the Reaping. They have to take somebody."

"That somebody wasn't supposed to be you!" Peeta insists vehemently, shaking his head in sorrow. "I prayed every year that it wouldn't be you."

I peer at him in astonishment. _Every_ year? Not just this one, where I might have been in his thoughts because of the trade we made that is still pretty recent? It has to be fresh in his mind, as it is in mine. Why would Peeta Mellark pray for me? Religion is forbidden in Panem, though I have heard it was once crucial to the culture of the land that came before ours. So why would Peeta Mellark pray for me?

It all clicks into place. I realize now that Peeta Mellark has feelings for me. Maybe he is even in love with me. All those times in school, when I caught him staring at me. The time he threw me bread in the rain. When he gave me bread fresh from the oven. And that time at my locker... he was probably trying to pluck up the courage to ask me out on a date.

I am shaken from my thoughts as I watch Peeta now take off a golden medallion hanging around his neck on a chain. "I don't know if Primrose gave you something; she probably already did," (she, in fact, did not. What could she have given me? My family can't exactly afford little trinkets) "but you can wear a token into the arena. Will you wear this for me?"

Still a little out of sorts from his kindness, and the new revelatory theory I have to explain it, I slowly nod. I don't even think to refuse it, to spite him for giving me far too good a loaf of bread that I didn't deserve. Wordlessly, I take the medallion from him, and split the chain to put it on. I'd ask Peeta to help me, but the strange pounding in my heart is telling me No. A weak No, but a No nonetheless.

Just as I finish fastening the medallion behind my braid, I feel heat flood my cheeks. Peeta takes my face in his hands, tilting my chin upwards. I gape at him in surprise and confusion. Then, I watch as his mouth slowly covers mine. He kisses me right on the lips, muffling the gasp that dies in my throat. The impact nearly makes my neck crane back completely vertical.

My eyes widen in befuddlement, remaining open to watch as our lips flex against each other. I let out a choked, confused whimper that gets lodged in the back of my gullet. Finally, I dare to twitch my lips into his the slightest bit, kissing him back. I am horrible at it - this _is_ my very first kiss, after all - but all the same, Peeta's hard, unyielding mouth pressed tightly against my own feels kind of... nice. I even flutter my eyes shut a little. He tastes good - like freshly baked bread and oven soot. At last, he releases me.

I am thunderstruck. I have never been kissed in my life! Not by a man who wasn't my father, certainly, or any other member of my family. Though, to be honest, Mother has never been the affectionate type.

"Do you love me?" I whisper the question. "The finer bread... staring at me in school... is that why?"

"Yes," Peeta admits heavily. "I even wanted to propose to you, when we got out of the Reaping."

I nearly keel over. Peeta Mellark must be pretty lovesick for me, for to forsake his Merchant upbringing and especially defy his mother all for a Seam runt like myself would be the damnedest fool thing for him to do. And yet still, the admission touches me. Peeta is clearly brave, the way my mother once was. And he would have been a kind husband for someone, if not exactly for me. Many husbands in the Seam and even a handful in Town are abusive. To find a gentle soul like Peeta would have been lucky. And I have to confess... he would be a handsome catch. And he wanted me. _Me_! He'll never see me again...

I make a quick, impulsive decision. The five minutes are ticking away enough as it is. After a moment, I wrap my arms about Peeta, my one hand slipping into the elastic of his pants. I boldly cup his shaft in my palm. My technique is atrocious, I know, but I hope he knows as little as I do about sexual intimacy. "What... what are you doing?" Peeta chokes.

"Sssh..." I put a finger to his lips. "Trust me. Trust me." Tentatively, I kiss him in return, parting my lips for him and licking my tongue into his mouth. This time, I allow my eyes to close completely, and Peeta's and my limbs wind about each other as we hold each other tightly.

It oddly feels as though we have been kissing each other all our lives. My jaw quickly becomes sore as I work, my lips bruised when we come together with a little too much force, especially when our teeth get in each other's way. Even so, this second kiss is even better than the first. The best kiss I will almost certainly ever get in my life; good thing it is almost positively the last. I wouldn't want any other liplock to ruin the feel of this one...

For his part, Peeta's hands fall into my curls, tugging my head closer with a low groan. His fingers deftly undo the braid that Mother put up this morning, so that my brown hair cascades past my shoulders in waves. I breathe in heavily through my nose, and back out through my nose, as I deepen the kiss. I don't want to have to come up for air. I don't want to come up for air, _period_. I want to kiss this man forever and ever and ever...

Meanwhile, I stroke along Peeta's impressive length. The hardened stalk is pretty tall, with the tip drawing even with the elastic of his underwear. I work methodically, trying to ease whatever discomfort might be in his erection. His erection that hardened for my touch, like it was a trained, living thing.

Peeta yanks me closer into his arms with a low groan, and squirms, bucks into my palm. My lips - sealed to his - curl as best they can into a pleased smile. Flex, pump, squeeze... flex, pump, squeeze...

Peeta's lips vibrate against mine as he cries out, at the same moment he hardens in my grasp and then begins to wilt. I have brought him to orgasm, staining his pants as well as my hand.

Retracting my hand, I break the kiss to lick my fingers clean, then pull Peeta back down to me to kiss him indecently one last time. I want him to taste his release on my tongue. I want my taste to linger against his, something for him to hold onto, as his chosen bride goes to her death. I finally step out of the kiss and Peeta's embrace. "Goodbye," I whisper.

"I love you," Peeta says, stronger than his affirmative admission to my questioning if it was so.

"I know," is all I reply.

After Peeta departs, blinking back tears, I am greeted with yet another visitor. I sure am glad to see Hermione, almost as glad as I was to see Prim. She runs to me and I have no qualms in giving her an affectionate hug.

"I wish I could have..."

"Don't say it," I snap. "I already had to admonish Prim. That was enough." Hermione shakily laughs. "But all the same..." I get out, "your sentiments are appreciated." I step away from her and for the first time allow myself to become vulnerable in a way that I wasn't, even with Peeta. "I'm going to die, Hermione. The odds have always been stacked against tributes from here. And I'm still terrified!"

I expect Hermione to insist that my worries are unfounded, to compliment me about how I am the best hunter in the district, and could survive multiple arenas if I wanted to. Instead, the Mayor's daughter grins. "You know what you need?"

And before I can say or do anything, Hermione yanks me back into her arms...

And kisses me right on the mouth.

Like before with Peeta, I stiffen in utter shock in her arms. But Hermione's kiss is rougher than Peeta's ever was. That shock, however, doesn't even compare to the one I experience at the thought flashing in my brain:

 _I like this_.

I begin to react positively to the kiss, accept it in a way that is completely out of the ordinary for me. I have already done things completely out of character today, like let a Merchant boy kiss me out of the blue, then kiss him back while giving him a pretty clumsy handjob. I take my rule-breaking a bit further now, as I return Hermione's kiss, even subconsciously raising my leg to the girl's waist and hitching it there. The hem of my blue dress rides high up my thigh at the action.

Hermione and I full-blown making out now. Our lips snap at each other, so that they bang together sharply more than they meet with accuracy. Our arms are clasped about each other, rummaging up and down each other's backs. When that closeness, craving for our partner's touch becomes not nearly enough, we begin to tear our fingers at each other's bodices, yanking them down so that our breasts break free and hang loose like fine fruit off a vine. I note through the heaviness of my eyelashes - for my eyes are once again shut tight - that Hermione's breasts are more womanly, voluptuous than mine will ever be. Her perky pink nipples cause an odd stirring in my nether regions - a sensation I only ever felt when I was kissing Peeta...

Hermione nudges me up against the wall, rubbing her breasts against me and even her... her... cunt... against my vagina. Which I am shocked to find is damp with arousal. Our hips are locked together in a dance of their own.

I suddenly hear footsteps approaching. Hermione and I hurry to fix our clothes and not look disheveled, kissing one last time. For luck. The Peacekeeper opens the door by the time we have a hold of our senses and comes to collect me.

As I board the train for my doom, my heart is in torment. In the span of ten minutes, maybe less, I have been kissed by two different people... and both times I _enjoyed_ it! And one of my romancers was a _girl_! Will I have left two souls crushed back home, besides my own?


	4. Chapter 4: To Spare Everyone

**Chapter 4: To Spare Everyone**

I thought my death would solve the problems for everyone involved with me. At least I hoped it would, especially for the youngest son of the Baker, and the only daughter of the Mayor. I was wrong.

Against near-impossible odds, I become the Victor of the 74th Annual Hunger Games, and the third champion for my homeland. Even though Haymitch Abernathy, my mentor and deliverance, is a rude and brash fuddy-duddy, I have to feel good for him that my winning will mean he is not lonely on that high hill anymore.

Once I am extracted from a foresty arena that looks like it was built for me, like I was born to conquer it, I have the Victory Crown placed on my head and conduct my final interview with Caesar Flickerman. Then, Haymitch and I are on the train for home. I listen to any final instructions Haymitch has to give me with my trademark scowl, because a good portion of his instructions I don't exactly like. But if I have my way, I might be able to find a loophole so as to not follow most of them.

When I step off the train at the jam-packed station to resounding cheers, I notice that Primrose and Mother are not the only ones to greet me. Peeta is right behind them - probably giving his mother a conniption fit with his presence - and greets me with a shy peck on the cheek. I never thought I would be this happy to see the Baker's son, but I am. Near-death has given me a new appreciation for some people. I peer at him, amused. He blushes beet red. "Sorry."

"You missed," I smile.

"What?"

"You missed." He still isn't getting my meaning, so I pull him down and press my lips to his in a searing, heated kiss. The entire platform erupts again in cheers. When we break the kiss at last, Peeta looks like he could walk through fire and it wouldn't hurt him in the slightest. "Katniss Everdeen, will you go out with me?"

Gazing at him intensely, I push him up against the train and kiss him again thoroughly as my answer. When I draw sensuously away, I murmur, "Pick me up at seven. Tonight," my expression blank, almost too serious. In the crowd, I think I see Hermione. She looks crushed, and I know she saw every kiss I shared with Peeta. If she feels something for me - as I suspect she does, having spent way too much time thinking about it in the arena - does she think I don't return her affections? I want to run to her and take her in my arms.

But she and I both know we can't.

* * *

My family and I move high onto the hill in the Victors' Village, with Haymitch Goddamn Abernathy himself as our next-door neighbor. The cameras and paparazzi die down. My first date with Peeta, the night of my return, we have to exit through my new mansion's expansive basement, crawl on our hands and knees to, and under, the fence just to avoid the media. We spend a lovely moonlit picnic in the woods, at the end of which I allow Peeta to kiss me. We go out many more times after that, when the news of my Victory dies down.

And for the first time, I actually seriously considering going back on my self-imposed vows of chastity. I seriously considering Toasting the bread and getting married.

The only problem is, I can't decide on my choice of groom... er, bride. No, groom. Spouse! My choice of spouse. For in the weeks since the Games, I have come to discover a deep secret about myself, one that I had never considered because I had never thought nor cared to explore it. But it nevertheless leads me to the following conclusion:

I am in love with both Peeta and Hermione.

Almost none of the Victors of the Hunger Games have ever gotten married. A quick trip to the school library during my lunch hour quickly uncovers this bit of research; I can count the number of wedded Victors on one hand. Haymitch certainly hasn't taken a spouse, and who would want to marry him anyway? I can only imagine the reason for such... celibacy is self-preservation. The Victors live under the Capitol's thumb, and probably don't want to involve any more people than they have to in their celebrity dealings.

However, I think I could conceivably marry Hermione and my Victor status would protect us both from one little obstacle: homosexuality in Panem is outlawed. Has been since the country's inception. And yet, being a Victor, the Capitol could not bring physical harm onto Hermione. They would need her, for leverage to get to me. The Mayor's daughter would be worth more alive to them than dead. We could Toast a bit of bread - no one in District 12 feels married without our traditional marriage ritual - steal a marriage license for us to sign, then somehow blackmail Cray into recognizing it as legal. I smirk in triumph. President Snow would have an anuerysm; I know in my bones that he hates me enough already. He thinks I'm trouble. Rebellious.

I then turn my thoughts to Peeta. If I were to marry him, I could hide my... bisexuality by entering into a heterosexual marriage. The risk for fallout from marrying across class lines would almost definitely be far less than marrying someone of the same gender. Thus, I could protect Hermione anyway. But also spare Peeta's feelings for me, which I suspect have probably run long and deep and true.

I come to my decision. Promising Mother I will be back by dinner, I stride down the hill and into the center of Town, slipping into the alleyway. It isn't until I knock at the door that I realize I may not have ironed out some more immediate details. What if the wrong person comes to the door? Thankfully, _he_ answers. My Peeta.

My name is barely out in the air before my lips are on his.

From top to bottom, my lips quickly become bruised, as I snap and thrash them into his mouth, intent on devouring his face whole. I bash my tongue between the split he opens up to me in surprise, and down his throat, where it belongs. It is soon hard to tell whose lips belong to whom. And I don't stop there. I quickly spring from Peeta's lips to mouth lovingly down his neck and jawline, working my open sucklings up to his ear, my eyes closed in bliss, my breath coming in rough gasps. The hot exhale of my voice tickles his earlobe as I whisper:

"If we get married, you can't _ever_ tell me what to do." The ultimatum comes out in a no-nonsense growl. Proper. Firm. I kiss him again deeply on the mouth, to wipe the stupefied gape off his face. Breaking away, I look down between us at our feet, twining his hands with mine. "And I won't have children. Any babies of ours would be placed in the Reaping for sure. I can hunt whenever I want. You'll live with me in Victors' Village. And I can't promise I'll be civil to your mother."

Still, Peeta says nothing as I dare to look him in the face again. I have delivered the terms for this potential marriage, but will he accept them? I give him my best, encouraging smile as I drape my arms about his neck and smirk. "Go ahead, then: propose to me."

That gets him to snap out of it. This sweet, adorable boy drops to one knee. "Katniss Sierra Everdeen, will you marry me?"

Impressed that he loves me enough to even know my middle name - which perhaps he once heard when Mother had to reprimand me in anger - I smile. "Yes."

* * *

I adorn myself in Mother's wedding dress - one of the few articles of clothing she managed to bring with her on her exodus to the Seam. Being a fairly plain girl in my tastes, I would just as soon marry Peeta Mellark in nothing but my blue Reaping dress. But the thought of denying the first person I fell in love with anything nearly brings tears to my eyes.

In the living room of my mansion, Peeta regards me as if I am an angel sent down from above. He expertly Toasts the bread to crispy perfection - making me appreciate, once again, that I am marrying a Baker by trade. The chances are good that Peeta will inherit the family business when his parents retire, but we can talk about that later.

Feeding each other the bread, I stare into Peeta's eyes that are as blue as a summer sky. Tilting my head, my lips puckered and eager, my own eyes full of love, I permit my new husband to dip his head and kiss me.

The small wedding party standing in our living room claps and cheers, and breaking my passionate marriage kiss at long last, I allow myself to survey face to face from the safety of Peeta's arms. Everyone has a supportive smile on their face; Mother is dabbing away tears.

But only one person's smile does not reach her eyes, her brown pools doubled over in great pain. Hermione.

* * *

It takes a couple of months before I work up the nerve to deliver strawberries to the Mayor's house again. When Hermione answers the door, she takes them silently. We regard each other almost stiffly, the tension palpable in the air between us. Before I can run away without any words - friendly or not - having to be exchanged, Hermione's soft voice stops me:

"Do you really love Peeta?"

It is hard to get mad at her for asking me that, even though any other instance of a person asking me if I was in love with my husband would make me devolve into uncontrollable rage. I can't bear to look Hermione in the eye as I whisper:

"Yes. He's a kind boy. A good _man_. He's been in love with me since we were five. He's always wanted me to be his wife." When Peeta had first told me the story of how he heard me sing on our first day of school, I cried and wondered how I ever could have denied him. Or even made him wait for me as long as he dutifully did.

When I will myself to meet Hermione's gaze again, she is studying me with a thoughtful frown. "Katniss, your reasons sound like pity, not like love."

Her theory hits close to home. How dare she think that I would marry a man - Peeta or anyone else - because I pitied him! Glancing furtively about me, I slide closer to the Mayor's daughter and, admitting it to someone other than myself for the first time, insist in a hiss. "I am bisxeual. So I don't know how you can stand there and..."

She grabs me and kisses me. _Hard_. On the mouth. My squeak of protest quickly turns into moans of pleasure, as against my better judgment and my wedding vows, I wind my arms about her and kiss her deeply in return.

And as Hermione and I embrace and kiss, the strawberries tumbling into the dirt at our feet, lying forgotten, I don't realize that someone is watching us. And that someone now points a shaking finger at our clasped bodies and vows, "God will punish you!"


	5. Chapter 5: Punished

**Chapter 5: Punished**

Peeta and I are married only a few months when I have to leave for my Victory Tour. It is not long after I shared that stolen, illicit kiss with Hermione Granger. Predictably, my wedding - a rarity for a Victor, especially a brand-new one - is cause for deep speculation by the media. To protect my new husband, I remain tight-lipped about his life story. If I could work my will, I would have ensured that Peeta's very name never got into the papers and news cycles at all. But that was unavoidable, especially after the kiss we shared immediately upon my return from the arena, and when we started dating.

Peeta is relieved when I return, expressing how hard it is to watch someone you love go through such a grueling schedule. And I barely have time to catch my breath before Caesar Flickerman is announcing that the twist for the 3rd Quarter Quell will soon be revealed. I have been internally prepping myself for my new mentoring duties for months, especially with the added pressure of this special edition Games and the scrutiny I will surely get being at Haymitch's side. For the last time this enhanced deathtrap was held, our very own Haymitch Abernathy won the Victors' Crown.

One evening in March, a mandatory programming called the Reading of the Card is held. My family and Haymitch are all squeezed onto the Mellark-Everdeen couch for the event. Opening the flap, President Snow announces, "On the 75th anniversary, as a reminder that even the strongest cannot overcome the power of the Capitol, the male and female tributes are to be Reaped from their existing pool of Victors."

Peeta lets out a strangled sob. Mother shrieks. Haymitch's roar of anger and betrayal is heard loudest of all above the din, peaked into cacophony and then sucked into silence in the next moment, by his hurling a full glass of bourbon at the screen, short-circuiting the entire television set.

I stumble out of the kitchen, not waiting to be consoled, in a daze, doubling over the kitchen sink to catch my breath and try to calm what must surely be a heart attack. No, hyperventilating sounds more accurate. Though at this moment, I kind of wish I was having a heart attack.

This entire Quell has been rigged. I don't know how, and I only have a vague idea of by whom. But I know clearly why. This is to punish me for surviving the arena the first time. The way I cheated the Gamemakers to do it. And another thought strikes me, causing me to gasp in horror. The kiss I shared with Hermione... did someone _see_ us? Did someone see us and go blabbing to the Peacekeepers? Is this Quell to also punish me for engaging in what is by the law an unspeakable crime? It sounds unrelated, on the face of it, but if I know the Capitol, my bisexuality being discovered is not outside the realm of possibilities.

And what now makes me feel even worse is that I am not the only one being punished for my wicked sins. Poor Haymitch is too. He's dreadful, of course, but like it or not, Haymitch is my family now, as well.

* * *

Haymitch and I are Reaped that brutally hot summer day with little fanfare. We have the smallest pool of Victors, I know it, scraping up one male and one female Victor, barely fulfilling the twist.

Already stewing and trying not to do anything rebellious - anything more rebellious than I already have - I become even more ticked off when the Peacekeepers helpfully inform me that I am only allowed one visitor. I guess with a enhanced Hunger Games, they can afford to bend the rules. I hope at least one person gets off their ass and visits Haymitch. As for me, I hope they choose my one visitor wisely. I hope it's my husband, with my sister as the next best thing. No way the Capitol would allow me time alone with my paramour.

But the answer turns out to be none of the above. My blood runs cold when it is my _mother-in-law_ who is ushered into my holding cell. Oh joy. Since Peeta and I got married, Paula Mellark and I have done our level-best to stay out of each other's way. And so far, it has been pretty easy. I only ever come to the Bakery to trade, or to walk my husband home when he gets off work. And she has never once set foot in Victors' Village. I recall her ugly face shouting at me in my youth, and I brace myself for that ugly mug again.

But instead, my mother-in-law is smiling, though the words she now speaks are just as cutting as any abuse she has ever hurled at me: "I can't wait to see you run to your death, you unfaithful faggot!"

I freeze. Of all the people I could have predicted who might have caught Hermione and I, even I never expected... "It was _you_?"

The Witch gets right in my face. "You're lucky I didn't tell my son that I was right about you all along. That you are nothing but a gold-digging Seam slut who would break his heart into pieces!"

I'm surprised she showed such restraint in telling others what she knows. Paula never came to the wedding - flat-out refused to when Peeta had the decency to ask. My husband did not seem shocked at all, and though he did his best to hide it, I could tell her rejection of his choice of a wife still bothered him.

"I hope you were happy with the Mayor's little brat while you still could be!" Paula now sneers. "You won't be getting any fucks anymore!" And with that, she storms out.

The door has barely halted in its shuddering slam behind her before I am trying to regather my thoughts. Mrs. Mellark's screening as my one visitor was by design, to psych me out right from the get-go. When I am hauled onto the train in front of the cameras, I have to compose myself to make it look like the mind games did not work. So it is that I keep my face neutral, save for my signature scowl, as Haymitch and I are manhandled onto the train, surrounded by mostly jeers directed at me. Apparently, word about my bisexuality has spread.

As we ride to the Capitol, Effie tearfully leaves Haymitch and I to sit and sort out what to do next. My mentor quickly levels me with a pointed stare. "I need you to tell me everything from the beginning, sweetheart. The Boy, the Granger girl, all of it. Old Bitchy Mellark's perspective has never been reliable. But her projection sure is; heard the cunt all the way through the wall."

I bare my soul to him: how I sat with Hermione at lunch and traded strawberries with her and admired her from afar, how I traded bread with Peeta and he gave me way too good a loaf, how both Peeta and Hermione kissed me goodbye at the Reaping last year. How I first discovered I am attracted to both men and women. Haymitch listens to it all in silence, not even touching his glass full of booze.

Then - to my amazement - at the end of my sad tale, he throws every last drop of it away. "You're going to win, Sweetheart - even if it means I sacrifice myself."

I gawk at him. "Why are you doing this?" I whisper.

Haymitch catches my eyes and holds them, and I am almost disturbed to see tears swimming there. Is he... _gay_? No... that couldn't possibly be the reason...

"Hermione Granger's aunt competed with me in the Quell twenty-five years ago. As allies, we reached the Top Five together. And then, like the selfish fool I was, I abandoned her. This - _this_ is my way to finally pay my debt to Helga Donner, after all these years."

I take the news that the Mayor's wife has a dead sister silently. I say nothing as Haymitch begins to craft out a daring plan...

* * *

From the moment I step off the train, the Capitol does everything in its power to knock me off-balance.

Caesar Flickerman opens my interview - the second-to-last of all the Reaped Victors - by showing an image AND a video of Hermione and I kissing. The studio, Capitol crowd boos and hisses in disgusted rage; some audience members call for my murder right then and there. When it's his turn, Haymitch does his best to control the damage, which manifests in him condescendingly putting down the entire Capitol. At one point, he even calls the entire studio audience "retarded sons-of-bitches." If anyone tries to punish him for that later, he could probably explain it away as his being drunk. He certainly looked drunk up there, even if I know he hasn't imbibed a single drop since the Reaping. He put on the performance of his life up there, and I am nothing but grateful.

Even if I think it will all be pointless in the end, as I fall into a tormented sleep, dreaming of Peeta and Hermione and kisses I will never share with either of them again...


	6. Chapter 6: Two Women Together

**Chapter 6: Two Women Together**

Someway, somehow, I triumph once again in the 75th Annual Hunger Games, becoming the Victor of Victors, and adding a Quarter Quell title to my survival belt. Haymitch Abernathy, along with a few brave other Victor-tributes like Finnick Odair and Johanna Mason and Beetee Latier, ally with me and keep me alive, killing to protect me and sacrificing their own lives and chances for glory. Except for Haymitch, I never get the chance to ask any of them why they are giving it all up for me. But I have a feeling they think my winning could strike a final blow against the Hunger Games, if not the Capitol itself.

As I return home once again the Victor, Panem devolves into a Second Revolution. A great many in District 12 rise up, as do scores of our fellow countrymen, and the war is over within weeks. The Capitol is invaded and overrun, President Snow is executed, and a new President is elected for a New Democratic country. At least that is what we are calling ourselves now - the New Democracy. A more suitable title will surely come later.

* * *

After the war is over, it is with great pain that I visit my husband down at the loading dock by the Bakery. After we have annulled our marriage. We divorce as friends, though I can still tell, gazing into his eyes, that it is tearing Peeta in two to lose me. I love him - a part of me will _always_ love him. But I love Hermione more. As I remove the medallion he gifted me after the Reaping - I have always considered it our first engagement present, and I have cherished it only equal to my wedding ring - he closes my fingers around it insistently.

"Take it with you. So you'll always have a way to look back..." He runs a paw of a hand through my loose, brown hair. "... and remember me."

I blink back tears. "Thank you for understanding how much she needs me." When Peeta glances away sadly, I cup his cheek with my palm and kiss him on the lips one last time. This is a kiss goodbye. I release him from my spell. I hope he might find someone new who will love him even better than I could.

* * *

Weeks later, I dress in Mother's wedding gown once again. Only this time, someone will be matching me in my choice of wardrobe.

Hermione Granger and I get married, Toast the bread in my mansion's living room - becoming the first same-sex couple to wed in the former Panem. After the ceremony, my new wife throws her bouquet into the crowd, to see who will catch it. As is tradition, whoever catches it has to get married next. I laugh uproariously when the catcher turns out to be my mother.

Also as is tradition, Hermione removes my garter from my thigh and throws it too into the crowd. Whoever catches this is allowed to freely kiss the bride as congratulations. Since there are two of us, Hermione and I agreed that I would be the one to receive the kiss. And it's just as well, for I smile in relief when the catcher of my garter turns out to be none other than my ex-husband, Peeta. It warms my heart that he even came to the wedding at all, despite his dwindling emotional pain, thinking only of me. To support me.

Striding forward, Peeta takes me in his arms and kisses me full on the mouth. The kiss quickly gets very involved, with Peeta sweeping me into a dip. Finally, he rights me onto my feet, drawing away to coughs and wolf-whistles. Hermione looks annoyed, but I don't mind. If I had to kiss anyone besides my new wife at my wedding, I would have preferred that it be Peeta, since we have a history, and did have chemistry, once upon a time. He and I break apart with a smile, and I whisper in his ear that I still love him, just in a different way now.

And with that, Hermione and I dance and kiss in each other's arms all night as our family and friends and loved ones party all around us. And that is the best Victory of them all.


End file.
